Floyd Barber, Motivational Warehouse Supervisor
So, you’re calling in sick–again. You must think I’m as gullible as your 8th Grade Home-Ec teacher. You think that just because the union gives you a mittful of sick days that you feel obligated to use them up–whether you’re legitimately sick, or you’ve simply consumed eight or nine too many beers watching Monday Night Football, and you’re quote “too sick to work today”.
Well mister, I know what’s really going on here, and that shit isn’t going to melt chocolate. I’m well aware of your habit of falling ill on the Friday before the long-weekend. I’ve been paying attention when you’ve called into reception complaining of an illness on a Monday morning after the Super Bowl, Stanley Cup, Final Four, or World Series.
You must be working yourself to the bone during the week. It seems that when the weekend arrives, you’re so bloody weak from the hard labour we forced you to perform, that your body can’t protect you from the germs and bacteria your filthy home incubates. I sure as hell must think that way, because I haven’t seen you missing on a Wednesday, or even on any Thursday pay-day for that matter.
But my friend, your excuses better become more artistic than shit on a pinwheel, because I’m seriously having my doubts about your so-called health. The next time you’re sick, I may just visit you myself, and serve you a special get-well remedy.
From now on you’re going to have to cut out of the “cutting out” business unless you have a legitimate infirmity. Now, if you’re looking for a real reason for calling in sick, I’d be willing to physically help you out. But until that time, I’m going to have my nose in your private parts sniffing for an excuse to can your immune-impaired ass.
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